


Cronus/(Female)Reader

by Sinderlin



Series: Reader Fucks The World [5]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Xeno, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-27 00:27:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinderlin/pseuds/Sinderlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Request for female reader gettin it on with Cronus turned into this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cronus/(Female)Reader

**Author's Note:**

> haha how do i fic

He's absolutely just a huge heap of sad failure and teen hormones, and it kind of hurts to watch him pull out all the stops on his painfully bad pickup lines and 'smooth moves'. He calls everyone 'baby', 'doll', 'babe', and occasionally 'boss' or 'chief'. He leans in on people in an overbearing way that he probably thinks is cool, and heaves this heavy "your loss" sigh whenever he gets inevitably turned down or outright ignored. When he thinks nobody's watching, he whines to his floating seahorse that you guess is his father figure or something and writes bad poetry. REALLY bad poetry.

He takes an interest whenever you pass by, partially due to the strangeness of a real-life up-close human, and also because he finds you attractive enough to make passes at. He's kind of a loser, all told, but he's not at all hard on the eyes even with the overdone 50s style. He calls you a pretty little babydoll and you quirk an eyebrow at the compliment. That's probably the least stupid thing he's said in the time you've known him. You cautiously thank him and keep walking. The only other person so open and friendly around is Rufioh, but he's much more family-friendly and less greased-up oldies wannabe. Truth be told, you feel bad for this 'bard of tries too hard'.

You actually start talking to him after a while. He chatters on about Meenah, his music, his poetry, and how over the whole hemospectrum casteist bull he is. You call him out a couple of times, pointing out the excessive 'they ought to be grateful!' moments in his ramblings and he actually takes a good minute of awkward mental scrambling to try to defend himself. You can see him making a mental note to watch himself, though. His face is smooth and gently angled, with regal cheekbones and a firm yet fine jaw. He does look like a prince.

Even if there isn't any time in this place, it feels like it's been about a day since you last ran into the guy. You see him searching around the area he usually hangs out in, shoving bushes around and checking little hidey-holes you hadn't noticed. When he sees you he rushes over and asks you if you've seen his computer anywhere with a distinct note of panic to his voice. You tell him to chill, that you haven't seen it, but you'll ask around. He starts trying to yank his hair out with his fins flattened back against his head. His adams apple bobs when he swallows harshly and then he darts back to check the nearest chest a third time. You highly doubt it's porn he's freaking out about people finding. You almost don't want to know.

You take the time to question likely suspects, partially because you have nothing but time in these bubbles. Mituna yells something about shoving his computer you wish you could UNHEAR where covered in battery acid, which is completely irrelevant and hard to understand, and Kurloz signs that he doesn't want it, followed up by a few bitter comments about Cronus. Damara just makes...gestures. You broach the subject with Meenah, and she wordlessly hands you the monitor half of a laptop. It has the Aquarius symbol etched on the back, so you ask for the hard drive. She frowns and flippantly hands over the thoroughly trident-stabbed keyboard and main component half while remarking on his shitty music and dumb creepy poems. When you get the poor thing back to Cronus, he just stares and appears to inwardly weep. You pat his back and nod knowingly. His naturally perfectly sculpted brows are pinched together in confusion and despair, but the crease eases when you tell him she probably didn't see what he was hiding.

You can feel the cool pressure of his arm around your shoulder, and his smooth grey lips are pulled back from his teeth in a smile that erases the remaining worry from his face. His muscles flex and shift when he squeezes you closer, lean and fit. He smells like sea salt and faint musk. His teeth are pearly and serrated like tiny ivory saws, and he drags his purple-laced deep grey tongue across them while he tries to come up with the right line. His hand leaves your shoulder and slides down to your waist, pressing firm and reassuring into your side. He's been trying to hit on you for a while again, now, but you tune it out to admire the curve of his neck and drag a hand through his carefully coiffed hair. He reflexively smooths his hair back down, but he smirks at you and raises his eyebrows.

His lips are soft and cool and strong, working intently against yours. You aren't sure which of you started it, but his equally iced tongue licks its way across your lips with a sort of perfect clumsiness born of enthusiasm. He looks mildly perturbed when you pull back to look around. He points out an empty hive behind the two of you that he apparently hung out in a lot and leads the way in. You nip at the corner of his mouth and let your tongues tangle the minute you're both in the door. He's not just cool, he's cold, but rapidly warming up. He grabs a handful of ass through your pants and huffs when you tug his lip between your teeth. Pressing tight against you, he rolls his hips. The thick squirming line of his bulge roils against you through the fabric of both your clothes, desperately seeking your heated body. His soft-skinned hand slides under the edge of your shirt, pushing it eagerly up over your breasts, lingering on the warm swell of flesh.

Shoving him off, you tug your shirt off and toss it to the side. He copies you, revealing a tight, perfect stomach and broad chest. He pops the button open on his jeans and shoves them down without a word. You take your time, unbuttoning and unzipping with a coy smile. His hand is squeezing himself through his briefs, spotting them with thick purple liquid. He hooks his thumb into your underwear and pulls it down your thighs, staring at your naked body with reverence and yanking his own off to match. The writhing purple thing between his legs seems more alien than you'd expected, but it's thick and plumped with purple blood and dripping with want. He asks if you like it and you smile a little, leaning against the wall and draping your arms over his shoulders. He lifts your leg and holds it against his hip as he presses close to you, gritting his teeth and flushing rich violet as his bulge finds the hot split between your legs and wriggles in. He gasps and moans, rolling his hips against you as it starts to really have to work to push its way in. You pinch him hard, scowling, and he eases up with a muttered apology. When he stops trying to force it, it just undulates enticingly inside you, moving of its own accord and curling against your inner walls.

After a few breathless moments he asks you to put a couple fingers in him. Your confusion shows, and he grabs one of your hands off his shoulder and leads it back to his ass. You raise an eyebrow and are about to agree when he realizes he's a little off and pushes your hand a little lower. You feel slick, wet heat between his thighs and understand, shoving two fingers into the moist folds of his nook with a smirk. He gasps and groans, rocking back onto your hand with delight. His brows pinch together and he needles his lip, eyes closed and head tilted back as he tilts back and forth between your hand and hips. The way he writhes inside you feels amazing, and when he leans in and sucks at your neck you think he's got to be an incubus. His free hand shoves between you, scrabbling for what he assumed might be a particularly reluctant bulge, but when you shiver as his fingers brush your clit, he goes back to it and rubs more intently, working it in tiny circles and drinking in your breathless moans.

You shove a third finger inside him as repayment and he moans wetly against your neck. He rocks against you with a broken snappy rhythm, chest heaving. His tight-trimmed nails dig into your leg and you can feel his nook clamping down hard on your fingers, and his bulge going rigid. He's so loud, groaning yes, yes, and oh god as thick, sticky fluid fills you up and runs in heavy rivulets around your hand and down his thighs. You would be annoyed at him for being this far ahead, but his thumb doesn't stop rubbing those wonderful firm circles around the little bump just above where you're joined. You pull your fingers out of him and knead your breasts with a distant look, enjoying the hot tingling he's causing. He shakes a little and makes an interested sound, still fairly plump and stiff inside you as his thumb works you steadily into bliss. He speeds up just a little and that's all you needed, clenching rhythmically around him and gasping for air. He's grinning ear to ear when you're through and he eases up, pulling out and letting the purple gunk run out of you and spatter the floor. You smirk back and tell him he wasn't half bad.

The hot shivers are still working their way out of you when you're both fully dressed again. He asks you if you'd be willing to do that again sometime. You tell him you weren't planning on doing it at all, but it was nice enough that you'll consider it.


End file.
